


Heaven, Hell, and Death

by Redgrave_Writer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Death, Demons, Fantasy, Ghosts, Modern Era, Murder Mystery, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgrave_Writer/pseuds/Redgrave_Writer





	Heaven, Hell, and Death

Clark sat at the bar taking slow drags on his whiskey, looking dark. The sleeves of his army jacket where rolled up to his elbows, which was completely against regulation. He had been discharged years ago, however, so what did he care? He still found it amazing how much two bullets to the chest could change about a life. Two pieces of metal, no bigger than his cat’s long lost nuts. He took an angry drag from his glass and set it down forcefully. The bartender looked his way, concerned. Clark tapped the bar with two fingers, causing a skeptical look from the bartender, but he filled his glass anyway. He had avoided death so many times he figured that the armed forces would be a fun experience. Death, it seemed, had been trying to catch Clark his whole life. Unsuccessfully, at least, until he got shipped off to Iraq. He could still remember the hot sun overhead, cooking everything. It was so hot that even his blood felt cold as it trickled down his chest. To this day he still hated the heat, maybe that’s why he liked _his_ company so much.

Clark was taking a drag from his fresh whiskey as a wave of cold washed over him, followed by a figure in a black sleeveless sweatshirt, blue jeans, and clunky black work boots taking the stool next to him. The hood of the sweatshirt was so voluminous all you could see inside of it was darkness. The hood slowly turned to face Clark, a slow ragged breath rattled from inside the hood followed by a jet of condensation, as if the room where freezing cold. A tattoo sat on the their shoulder, one that Clark could barely figure out. Sometimes it looked like an angel, others a demon. Sometimes it was male, others it was female. If you stared at it long enough it gave you a headache.

This? This is Death, and Clark owes them his life.

Metaphorically, of course, not in some dark ‘he’s going to drop dead at the bar for no reason’ sort of way. Death thought that spending so much time chasing Clark throughout his life was so fun that they didn’t want it to end so easily. They had spared him that day in Iraq, for both bullets were fatal.

“Hey.” Clark muttered, un-phased. 

Death’s shoulders drooped and a raspy voice flowed from the darkness “Dammit. Couldn’t you at least _act_ scared?” 

“No. And stop with the voice.”

Death throws the hood back to reveal their head of long spiky black hair, emerald green eyes, and pale skin. “Fine.” They mutter through a cough “It does terrible things to my throat anyway.”

Clark always thought that Death would be a bit more intimidating, but he was more like a carefree teenage. Like something straight out of an anime you see on that late night cartoon channel. Of course, Clark wasn’t even sure he was a _he_. His features were just as feminine as they were masculine. Clark thought it would be rude to ask and Death never corrected him, so he left it at that.

Death reached up to Clark’s head and fingered his brown wavy hair. “What the hell is this? And your beard? Geez, I don’t see you for a month and you go all ‘Crazy Vet’ on me? You need a cut and a shave my friend.”

Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m sitting at the bar talking to Death, while he plays with my hair. It’s a pretty convincing situation that I might be one of the crazy ones.”

Death let out a giggling laugh. “Fair enough Christopher.”

“No, no, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Awe, but it’s your name . . . Christopher.”

“Yea . . . the one I _don’t_ use.”

“Eh, whatever.” Death looked to their watch and pulled a quick face. “You might want to make that your last drink. You are going to get called in.”

Clark shook his head. “Not tonight. I took a personal day.”

Death grimaces. “You are still gonna get a call. Go in for me? As a favor? I really don’t want to do this one by myself.”

“Psh, isn’t this your job? How could it possibly bother you?”

“Why don’t you tell me _Christopher_ ? You’re a Homicide Detective, does your _job_ ever stop bothering you?

Clark shrugs. “I concede to your point.”

“Exactly, just because I take people doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart.”

Clark’s phone begins to ring.

“Please Chris?”

Clark kept his eyes straight ahead. “No.”

“Come on . . .”

“No.”

“You gonna stop talkin’ to yourself and answer your phone?” The bartender cut in.

“Mind yer business Joe.” Clark’s eyes sharpened from under his furrowed brow.

“Sorry.”

Death put on a pouty face and the biggest puppy dog eyes they could muster. “Chris?”

“No.” Clark glanced sideways at Death. “Ugh . . . fine.”

Death squeals, jumps off the stool, and hugs Clark “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

Clark groans again and pushes Death away. “Yea, yea. Now somebody died, can you pretend to be a little sad?”

Death bites their bottom lip and shakes their head yes.

Clark rolls his eyes again and flips his phone open. “Clark.”

A woman’s voice came from the other end. “Sorry to bother you on your day off sir. . detective.”

He hated being called sir, but she was getting better at it, so he would let it slide.

“It’s fine, go ahead.”

“Well, it’s just a pretty gruesome homicide turned up, and the chief thinks it’s right up the ally for your particular . . talent, says he wants you here A.S.A.P.”

Clark grunts into the phone as he digs his notepad from his pocket. “Alright. Address?” he begins jotting things down “Mmhm, mmhm, mmhm. Got it, be there in fifteen.” He snaps the phone shut and stuffs the lot back into his pocket. “Death?” Clark looks around the bar and spots them nodding to some tune they seemed to be humming as they read a man’s phone from over his shoulder.

“Pst!”

Death jerked their head towards Clark. “Hmm?”

“Ready?”

Death looks back to the phone for a second. “Yea, I suppose.” They follow Clark outside to the streets of Cleveland, Ohio.

“Didn’t know Death was so nosey.” Clark said as he pops open the door to his beat up green Volvo. 

“Mm, there is a chance he might die tonight. Just wondered if the person he was texting had anything to do with it.”

Clark pauses, halfway in the car. “What? Can we stop it?”

“I wouldn’t. That in itself could be what leads up to his death. Best to just let it play out.”

“So . . . you know _when_ they are going to die, but not _how_?”

“Weelllll, I can see how long they have left, it’s a number that fluctuates a lot actually, depending on the situation. Except for yours. Yours used to always be low. I can see the scene, but just like you, I get to piece it together myself.”

“Good to know.” Clark swings himself the rest of the way into his car. Death phases through the door and into the passenger seat. 

“These things keep us so busy.” Death throws their feet onto the dash “Crash, boom!” They imitates crash noises and runs their hands into each other. “Ahhh! Save me!”

“Thanks, that’s just what I want to think about before I start this thing.”

“Oh Chris, Death is your co-pilot, what could happen?”

“Condo in the upper east side, what CAN you tell me about the murder?” Clark changes the subject as he turns the car over and pulls onto the street.

“Well,” Death looks to their watch again “You are probably going to throw up when you see it, that much I know.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Eeeee.”

“Out with it.”

“Seems sacrificial to me. Skinned, disemboweled, organs spread out. I’m pretty sure he’s missing a bone or two. Taken.”

“Ick, this better not turn into a serial thing.”

“I have no idea how I’m gonna calm this guy down. He is probably freaking out. I hate other-siding the mulched ones.”

“Really?” Clark half shouted, his eyes wide. “ _Mulched_ ? Do you have _any_ tact?”

“Not really.”

“If you dislike it so much why not have one of your underlings do it?”

Clark had once asked Death how he had so much time to hang out with him. Death’s exact response was ‘You know how Santa has elves to do his bidding? I’m like Santa. Only not fat. With a better fashion sense. But my reindeer aren’t as cuddly. Also, they are on fire. And they aren’t ‘Reindeer.’ Clark still regrets asking the question, it didn’t end at that, it was an hour long ‘conversation’. Clark would have loved to walked away from it, but a surgeon was elbow deep in his chest cavity retrieving a bullet, he could not.

“I would love to, but they don’t have the strength to other-side people with massive trauma. Well, a few do, but not many. It takes a lot of energy you know. If you don’t do it just right you fracture the person’s soul, leaving pieces behind. You see them as ghosts and spirits and such.”

“That’s something I could have gone without knowing, thanks for that.”

“That’s what happened at Poveglia you know. Too many people dying awful deaths too fast. Had to enlist help.”

“Fascinating.” Clark said flatly.

“You Americans. Nothing is interesting unless it’s football.”

“I hate football.”

“You need a hobby. One that doesn’t include hanging out with dead people.”

Clark slows the car and carefully swings it into a parking spot and gets out of the car. He shields his eyes from the sun and groans as he stares up to the third floor. 

“Come on Champ.” Death slaps Clarks shoulder and walks towards the building.

Clark walks through the door of the building, walks past an elevator with an ‘Out of Order’ sign on it, and heads to the stairwell. He huffs up three floors and curses himself for not keeping in better shape. Clark takes a minute to lean on the wall and ready himself for the scene once he reaches the landing, well, that and catch his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Death asks, head poking through the closed door of the third floor hallway.

“Let’s give you a corporeal body and see how well you do with oxygen.”

“It has been a while.” Death muses.

Clark cocks his brow at Death.

“Story for another time. Let’s go.” Death nods towards the hall, and phases back through the door.

Clark pushes himself off the wall, pulls the door open, and starts stalking down the hall towards the bright yellow police tape. Clark shows his badge to the officers outside the door to the apartment as he ducks under the tape into the crime scene.

“Thank god you’re here, Clarkie, this one’s a doozy.” A woman with shoulder length blonde hair states as she walks in from a back room, her grey eyes practically piercing him. Detective Sarah Lee, the closest thing the department could get to a partner for Clark. “We could really use your . . talent . on this one.”

Clark motions for her to show him the way.

She leads him into a back bedroom where he is immediately greeted by warm, stale air saturated with metallic tang of blood. Clark gives a sniff to the sudden change in air composition.

“It isn’t your nose I would worry about.” Death whispers in Clark’s ear as he points over Clark’s shoulder. 

The whole room is bathed in a warm red-yellow light coming from a tall lamp standing in the corner. Upon closer inspection one would find that atop this lamp was not a normal lampshade, but a human skull, skinned down to the bone, with the eyes still intact. Inside was the lightbulb, shining out through the sockets, lighting up the eyes and casting that across the whole room in a way that chilled Clark to the bone.

“That’s fucked up.” Death says, staring wide eyed at the lamp. “Like, seriously fucked up. Like I don’t eve . oof.”

Clark elbows Death in the ribs to shut him up.

“Right, sorry.”

Sarah Lee turns to Clark and stares through him again. “Got a good hold on your lunch?” and she side steps to show the whole room. 

What seemed to once be white carpet, now soaked with blood, was several shades of red. Deep red at the very epicenter and slowly gets brighter as you move out of the ring of carnage. Many of the long bones had been arranged to form a pentagram, with a ribcage in the very center. In the center also lay a dagger, its silver blade and a gold handle coated in wet, congealed blood. Clark’s stomach tightened at the sight.

“Where is the rest of him?”

Sarah Lee pointed to the bed.

The man’s muscles were carefully laid out on the bed to form the shape the man had once been, it could have passed as a page from an anatomy text. Next to the figure, holding ‘hands’ even, was the flesh, also carefully laid out.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Death utters again.

“Shut up.” Clark whispers.

“What did you say?” Sarah asks.

“Sorry, this is just a fucked up scene.” Clark mumbles.

A man steps from the closet, takes a look around the room, and begins screaming hysterically.

Clark jerks his head towards the man, but seeing as Sarah Lee is still staring at him with her chilled gaze, he doesn’t react.

“Oh shit, I didn’t want THAT to happen . . .” Death groans “Really wish he hadn’t seen himself. Dammit. I got this, give me a second.”

Clark found it hard to pretend there wasn’t a screaming victim in the room while he tries to work. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Headache?” Sarah Lee asks.

Clark nods slowly.

“I’ll be back, I have the bottle in my car.”

“Thanks.” Clark groans.

As soon as Sarah Lee is out of the room he opens his eyes back up and looks to Death, who has an arm around the man has they calm him down and explains what has happened. Clark pulls out his notebook and starts some rough sketches of the room and positions of the bones. He made his way to the bed and found that each ‘body’ had been given different expressions. The muscle man seemed to be frowning, but the skin seems to be smiling. He jots this down in his notebook too. He glances to the corner and sees Death had been able to at least get the man to stop screaming, but he was still in a panic. Death had the man in their arms, as he sobbed with his head on Death’s chest.

Death glances at the man then looks at Clark. Clark heard Death’s voice ring in his head. 

_He was alive for most of it. He only died once all of his skin was removed and he bled to death._

Clark starts to think his response.

_And I know you have forgotten, so I’m reminding you, it doesn’t work both ways. Say it out loud._

Clark rolls his eyes and stays quite instead.

Sara Lee walks back into the room and tosses Clark a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Thanks.” Clark grumbles. He points his pen to the body. “Who is he?”

Sara flips through her note book. “Super says the apartment belongs to Alexander Tiggins. Wallet with the body confirms. 

The man lifts his head off of Death’s chest. “But, my name is Evan. Evan Gliek. Who is Alexander?”

Clark whips his head around and stares at the man with a cocked eyebrow.

Alexander Tiggins slowly scrubs the blood from his hands with a face that could have been made of stone. The man’s death didn’t bother him. He didn’t even know him. He just needed a sacrifice. And hopefully that gruesome scene at his apartment would throw the cops off him long enough. He turns the faucet off, shakes his hands dry, and picks up a pile of small bones from the counter. He rattles the man’s wrist bones like dice as he strolls through the abandoned house he was squatting in. The people that owned the house are trying to ‘Flip’ it, but they are never here. Most of the place is torn apart, but it is easy enough to live here. Fools even leave the gas, water, and electricity on.

He sits down on a camping chair in the middle of what seems to be the living room and picks an old leather bound book up off the floor. The spine cracks and complains as he opens it. The pages were yellow with age and it smelled like a grandmother's attic. The lengths he had gone to to get this thing. It would make a normal person fall apart. But he wasn’t a normal person. Sociopath; some might say. But Alexander always saw it as a better class of human. No pesky emotions to get in the way. To him the rest of humanity was no different than a colony of ants, just something to annoy him while he tried to eat lunch. The closest Alexander came to having an emotion was fear, not gripping and awful like most people, but a fear all the same, of dying.

Biology had, for some reason, cursed a from that could hypothetically last for eternity to eventually wither and die. Alexander can’t afford to die, he is far too important. Like most people, Alexander turned to religion to help him find the answer to immortality. Unlike most people, and much to the dismay of Evan Gliek, he didn’t turn to the warm, fuzzy, feel good ideas of religion. He went for the literal stories, assuming that these fables HAD to be based off some minute truth. After many years of studying different religions and hunting down every myth, he finally found solid proof that Christianity was the closest to the truth of the matter. Not that he would give any Christian the satisfaction of knowing that.

It would stand to reason that if a person found out that Heaven and Hell were real that they would set about trying to be the best person they could be to secure their eternal soul. Except that Alexander isn’t a normal person. Being ‘good’ and ‘nice’ felt too much like work, work he didn’t want, or care, to put the effort into. Be a nice sheep here to still be a sheep there? No. Alexander needs to be the Shepard. Well, maybe not the Shepard. Again, too much work. If his studying had shown him anything, it’s that it is much easier to summon a demon than it is an angel. And angels don’t make deals.

Alexander dropped the bones into the pocket of a satchel he had left on the table. Only a few more items he needs before he can perform his ritual. So close he could taste it. He grabs his shovel and heads to the graveyard.

“Run DNA and match prints, if we can, to the ID.” Clark mentions to Sara “Pull Dentals too.”

“Gut feeling?”

“You could say that. Anybody asks, just say ‘Dottin’ i’s and crossin’ t’s’”

“Yes si . .yes.”

Clark hears more weeping from the soul, and jots Evan Gliek down in the back of his notebook. If he didn’t have a record to match prints to he would have to find a way to work the name in himself.

“I was just looking for a good time, all I did was answer the ad.”

“I know.” Death cooed “It’ll be alright now.”

Clark felt a calming wave of energy wash over him. He has seen Death do this before, but never quite so strong. Sara shivers, but it seems she isn’t even aware she did.

The man takes a deep breath, and almost sighs with relief. “I am feeling much better now.”

Death holds the man's face in his hands “And such shall it be from now on, you are safe forever now.”

Clark clears his throat and looks to Death.

“I’m getting there, keep your pants on. Remember the cracks.”

Clark sniffs and starts examining the room and taking notes.

“Too soon to ask if you’ve seen anything yet?” Sara mumbles apprehensively.

Clark doesn’t answer, just grunts as he continues taking in details of the room.

Death leads the man to sit on the floor. “Come, unburden yourself, what happened to you?”

The man shudders, but his face stays true “I don’t even live here. I was house sitting for a friend. He went on his honeymoon. To the Caribbean. I hear that the oceans are crystal clear, and the fish are all the colors of the rainbow. I never got the chance to see it.”

“Don’t fret, I’ll make sure you can. You will see it before our journey is over. Now, what happened?”

The man looks on the verge of tears again, but he nods solemnly and continues “This, this man, no, this monster knocked on the door. Said he had a pizza. I didn’t order a pi . . . Pizza. I shouldn’t have answered the door. Oh God, I shouldn’t have answered the door!”

Another wave of calm rolls over the room and Death stares at the man patiently.

“He waited till I started to open the door, then he must have pushed it into me and I must have hit my head because I don’t remember what happened after that. I remember waking up. I’m tied up, he’s behind me. He doesn’t say anything. I. I feel the skin splitting down my back. Cold like ice. Hot. Like fire. So cold.” The mans face is expressionless as he stares into nothing. “He’s peeling it off, like an orange. So much pain. It comes off like a glove. I see my own face. He shows me. He shows me my own face. Numb. Cold. Knife down my belly, intestines. . .”

Clark stumbles to the trash can and retches into it.

“That’s enough of that!” Death interjects as they put their hand on Evan’s forehead. A bright light fills the room for an instant and the man no longer looks empty.

“Oh, I’m sorry, who are you then?” Evan asks confused.

“Me? Why, don’t you remember? You won a trip to the Caribbean! I’m here to take you there!” Death shouts excitedly.

“Really?!”

“Why yes, just come with me and I’ll have you there in no time.”

Evan scans the room “Mmm, poor luck to that fellow, whoever he is.” He looks back to Death “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to the Caribbean.”

Death nods and walks Evan out of the room.

“Clark, you alright?”

“Just fine Sara” Clark’s voice rumbles from inside the metal bin as he throws a thumbs up. “Just peachy.”

“I knew you’d lose your lunch eventually. Finally found the crime scene that’s to much for even the great Clark.”

“You have no idea.” Clark groans as he stands back up.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

In order to not sound _completely_ insane Clark may have claimed to be able to ‘see’ the crimes through a ‘metaphysical vision’. Death’s words, not his. The question caught him so off guard he ended up just parroting Death’s explanation. Somehow sounds less crazy than “My best friend is Death and I watch as he interrogates the souls of the murdered.” Clark hated the idea of being psychic, always sounded like the plot of a bad TV show to him.

“Yea, and you don’t wanna know.”

“Wasn’t gonna ask.”

Death walks back into the room and stares sullenly at Clark.

“Gimme a minute, will ya Sara? Too much going on.”

“No problem.” She shuts the door behind her as she leaves.

“What the hell was that?!” Hisses Clark

“Which part?”

“The freaking Buddhist Palm move you used on the guy?”

“Oh, I was erasing the event from his memory. No way in Hell should that poor man be forced to live with that for eternity. Now, for all he knows, he died in his sleep. Probably watching Jeopardy.”

“You can do that?”

“Yup. Extreme cases only, though. Can’t fairy dust every dumb-ass that dies doing something stupid.”


End file.
